Kick
Our quiet family trip to the mountains took a rocky turn on day two. After a late arrival and a morning of cross-country skiing, our nerves were as sore as our muscles. The boys had to share a room, which should’ve been no big deal for three nights.
However, little brothers forever remained little brothers when the big one was in a bad mood. With Dylan and Suzy officially over, I thought getting him away from the condo where they lived would do him some good. Instead, he’d been acting like a rabid wolf and Liam was a fresh ankle. After a howl, a scream, and a hard crash, I yanked their door open to find them wrestling on the floor in their skivvies.
“Boys!” After they ignored me, I took off my shoe and threw it at the wall where it bounced off and landed smack in the middle of them. You don’t spend twenty years with a professional football player and not learn how to throw awkwardly shaped objects. I had a particular talent for short passes.
The boys sprang apart like they’d been electrocuted. I removed the other shoe. “There’s one more here for whoever speaks out of turn. Dylan… you want to begin?” Despite his terrible temper, he was my go-to because I could usually make him see reason quickly.
“Sorry, Ma. I just need space,” he huffed, raking his hands through his hair.
“And a fucking punching bag.” My second shoe bounced off Liam’s head. “Ow!” I had warned him.
I squeezed my eyes shut, quickly thinking about the correct way to mitigate. “You know, there’s a reason I never became a judge, right?”
“We know,” they said in unison. Yeah, it had often been the opening words to a long rant about kids expecting mothers to be cops, lawyers, and judges and the impossibility of it all.
“You two separate. Liam, join me in the living room. You can help me figure out why my laptop won’t sign on to the Wi-Fi. Dylan, you have an hour in here, then I want your help cooking.” Both boys grumbled and rose to their feet.
I continued. “As for sleeping, the last one up has the option of using the second bed in here or the sofa in the game room. Keep in mind, I won’t enforce quiet hours once the rest of us wake in the morning.”
“Gotcha,” Dylan said.
“Sure, fam.”
After signaling for Liam to follow me, I turned back to Dylan. “You know, son, Lee might have a point about the punching bag. There’s a gym downstairs. And an indoor pool. Maybe you should try out the facilities, burn off some of the anger.”
Dylan dropped his head, pinched the bridge of his nose, and broke my heart. “Sure. Sounds good,” he whispered.
I set a hand on his shoulder. “Please don’t sneak out though. I need your help later. Give me a heads-up before you leave.”
“Gotcha,” he repeated.
I turned back to Liam, jumped up slightly, and grabbed him by the earlobe—not the easiest thing when he was nearly a foot taller than me.
“God, fam.” He fussed. “What the hell?”
“A young man acts like he’s five. He gets treated like he’s five.”
“But he started—”
“Keep talking. You’ll dig a deeper hole.” I let go and took him with me into the kitchen where we unloaded the groceries I’d purchased.
“Dylan’s in the middle of his first big breakup, Liam,” I said. “Your sister is too. The least you and I can do is to be a soft place for them to land.” I tapped him on the temple. “Use your noggin. If they snap at you, it doesn’t mean you have to snap back. It’s usually best to leave the room and give them a minute to decompress.”
He whined, “This is going to be a long four days.”
A while later, loud music began booming from Rachel’s room, playing the same song over and over, and it wasn’t Christmas-y. Initially it amused me to see the way the boys’ eyes went wide at certain lyrics from Lily Allen’s “Not Fair.” By the fifth go-around, I actually winced and my sons grew ornery.
Dylan stood next to me in the kitchen, slicing sweet potatoes, while I prepped the chicken. Liam chopped broccoli at the table. The boys had taken up growling when the song would start over. At least they agreed on something. When the song rolled over a sixth time, Dylan dropped his knife with a sharp wrist flick and took a hard step toward Rachel’s room. I reached for his arm, stopping him.
“Let me speak to her.”
Dylan turned to me with fire in his expression, then exhaled and slumped his shoulders. “Yeah, okay.” He resumed his potato job.
The knob on Rachel’s door didn’t budge, so I banged on it. Hard. “Rachel! You don’t get to lock your mother out of a room in her own house. I don’t care how old you are.”
The music stopped, thank Jaysus. Feet padded across the room. A click sounded, and it opened. “This is a rental.”
“I’m footing the bill.”
“Right. Sorry.” She scratched her nose. “I was thinking.”
“Your brothers and I noticed. We need to talk.”
She tilted her head, looking truly puzzled. “What about?”
I moved into her room, shut the door, and sat on the ski-themed bed. “Snow, you’re not the only one of us who’s upset about a breakup.”
She waved her hand. “I’m fine—”
“You’ve played “Not Fair” almost six times in a row.” I laughed, remembering the uncomfortable grimaces on the boys’ faces. “It doesn’t take a degree in psychology to figure out the song’s appeal.” I lowered my voice and tried not to giggle. “Your usually thick-headed brothers figured it out, and they’re kind of freaked out.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh! Shit… but… don’t you think they know I’m not a virgin?”
“Of course they know. They also try very hard to not think about it.”
She sat up indignantly. “How is this my problem?”
I sighed, exhausted from the drive and my own emotional roller coaster. “If Dylan were blissfully happy, I might tell him to get over it. Right now you’re both on edge. Can we all try to keep our problems in Oakville though? I want us to have fun with each other. Okay, sweetie?”
Rachel almost shrugged, but it dissolved into shakes. “He gave her the present I had asked for. You know what that means? Cody gave that bitch my present!”
I tucked a curl behind my ear. “How do you know this?”
Rachel’s phone seemed to appear out of thin air. She held it out for me. “She posted it on the Gram.”
“Oh.” I let my head drop into my hand. Then I grabbed her phone and abruptly stood.
“What are you doing?” Rachel reached for me, but motherly indignance must have sped up my reflexes.
“Blocking them.” I worked quickly while Rachel objected. “If you’re going to pursue this Broadway thing”—I blocked the girl—“you’re going to need social media to advance your career.” I found Cody easily enough. His new girl had tagged him. “But you need to learn how to be the boss of your accounts. Don’t let anyone get it over on you because of some stupid Gram tag.” A few taps and Cody was gone too. I handed the phone back over. “Sweetheart, I know you can undo this later, but please don’t. I also know you understand the illusion all this crap is. Curate it so it makes you happy, not sad.” I tipped my chin back at her feed. “It should be filled with pretty inspiration images, not stupid taunts.”
“Yeah.” Rachel blew out a long breath. “I guess so.” She brought the phone to her face and yelled, “I Marie Kondo’d you, bitch!”
We both laughed and hugged. “There’s my girl.” I gestured for her to follow me.
My phone buzzed with a text alert from Thomas. They had been arriving at regular intervals since we made up. In need of a distraction, I swiped the phone awake and found a link to a song. I told Rachel to help her brothers in the kitchen and I would join them in a few minutes. After closing the door to the owner’s suite, I opened the attachment.
Using the endearment “baby” made Al Green’s “I’m So Tired of Being Alone” feel like it was written for me. Thomas tugged hard at my heartstrings with it. His attention pointed to an honest penance, as he’d been pouring his heart out through song lyrics. It was like he’d given himself permission to feel. The songs were my favorite present so far. I sent a message back.
Me: Wow! Putting it all out there. I needed it. Thank you.
I added an attachment: Pink Martini’s “Dream a Little Dream.”
Me: Hope your holiday is going well.
The ping back arrived immediately.
Thomas: Tomorrow will be rough.
Me: I’m sorry. It’s been emotion-central here, too.
Thomas: The 30th will be our refuge.
Me: Can’t wait to breathe you in.
Thomas: You kill me. I’ll dream of you. Do the same, baby.
Me: With pleasure.
I left the room and joined my kids in the kitchen for a little chat. “Listen up, crew. Half of us are happy, and half of us are hurting. Can we all make a promise to tread lightly?”
“Guess so.”
“Sure, fam.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Thank you. Now, how about we also promise only to play Christmas music? At least until the twenty-sixth. I especially don’t want to hear any sad songs or breakup songs. We’ll save them for when we get back to Oakville.”
“Aren’t there sad Christmas songs though?” Liam asked.
“Not this year,” I answered. “If one comes up, skip it. Remember our theme for this holiday?”
In unison, they said, “To have ourselves a merry little Christmas,” in a drone I’d expect from little kids, not my grown ones.
“Jaysus. There’s an enormous chasm between Elf enthusiasm and you three.” They each chuckled, making me think there might be hope for our trip.
I gripped Rachel’s and Dylan’s hands, looked them in their eyes, and said, “This will probably be our last holiday together as our foursome.” Squeezing the hand to my left and my right, I continued, “It might not feel like it right now, but you will add new loved ones to our table. Littles might even show up if we’re so blessed.” I caught Rachel’s vigorous head shake out of the corner of my eye, but the center of my focus was Dylan. “In the right time.”
Liam grinned but stayed quiet. The other two almost seemed amused too.
“I’m not only talking about Thomas.” I bumped shoulders with Dylan. “You already moved out.” My head tipped to Rachel and Liam in turn. “My empty nest days are right around the corner, regardless. You may not appreciate the brevity of it, but I do.”
Rachel asked, “But we can always come back home, right?”
“My house is always open to you guys. I’m not sure if I’ll stay in our big house though.”
A cloud of fear and sadness descended upon the room. I tapped the table. “Hey now, these are good changes, not bad. You’re supposed to grow up and have your own lives.”
I took a deep breath and addressed the elephant in the room. “Dylan and Rachel, it turns out your relationships were practice ones. You’ve both learned important lessons at a young age. I, for one, can’t wait to meet the people you’re meant to be with.”
A micro-smile reached Rachel’s face. Neither of the kids was ready for an official move-on pep talk, so I didn’t dare go any further. Dylan looked to be near tears.
“All done with the motherly sermon,” I told the younger two. “I need to speak with your brother now.”
“What should I do?” Rachel asked.
Liam saved the day when he said, “Want to help me with a song?”
“I guess.” I glared at my daughter, warning her to listen to my words and enjoy her little brother. They went down the hall to the media room.
I turned to Dylan. “Doing any better?”
“The workout helped a lot. Thanks for the idea.” I couldn’t believe he still had energy to burn after our cross-country skiing outing earlier, but there was a major, physical difference between us. Dylan walked over to the fridge, pulled out a soda, and popped the top. “Teach me how to be strong, like you were after Dad died.”
“I don’t remember being strong, lad.” Dylan drank from the can, then returned to his chair at the table. I rubbed his shoulder, remembering those horrible early days. “You can start by learning the difference between strength and resilience, like I did. Focus on strength and it’s easy to go cold, to numb out. Resilience though? It acknowledges the pain, feels it all, and moves forward anyway.”
Dylan sighed. “I want to get back to normal me.”
I grabbed his chin as I inhaled deep, preparing for a hard truth. “This is your normal now, lad. This you loves deeply. You can move ahead with the knowledge and believe one day the right person will be at your side, loving you and being loved in return. It’ll be beautiful, son.”
“It’s embarrassing. Aside from my wrecked heart, the investors look at all areas of my life to see if I’m a stable risk. How am I supposed to build a successful startup when I can’t make one person happy?”
“I think the word you’re looking for is humbling, not embarrassing. And let me tell you, there’s no better leader than a humble one. That person understands forgiveness. Service too.”
“So what do I do?”
I wished I had something strong to drink, but I hadn’t touched any alcohol after the attack. “Here’s what I did: I set the alarm every day, no matter what. Each morning, I woke up shocked to find myself alone and was afraid I wouldn’t get out of bed if I didn’t have to turn it off.”
Tears threatened as I found myself back in that headspace. I blinked several times to keep them at bay. “My toothbrush still worked, so I used it—even if it looked lonely in the cup.”
I reached for Dylan’s soda and took a sip. “The point is, I took tiny steps to get through the day. Then one morning, I woke and noticed the sun filtering through the drapes and thanked heaven for it. At the time, it felt like for-fecking-ever to get there. Now it’s a memory of the lowest low, mixed with the highs of you kids and life-changing lessons.”
“Can’t wait,” he scoffed.
“You’ll get there. I promise.” Still not sure if he believed me, I stood and leaned against the counter. The smooth chill helped take the edge off my sad memories. “Do you know where Suzy is now?”
He clipped out acerbically, “In Greensboro with her precious parents. She’s moving her stuff into Mai’s apartment on the thirtieth.”
“Will you be there?”
“I won’t lift a thing. It’s on her to get a crew, but I will make sure she goes.”
“That’s the day Liam and Koosh are coming over.”
“It’s fine. She’ll be done by noon. Dum and I have already ordered the replacement stuff—mainly a new television and couch. We’ll be ready by the time Dimp and the dog show up.”
“Dylan…” I swear, these kids were born to get on my nerves. Here I’d been pouring my heart out too. Still, I laughed before schooling my face into motherly disappointment. “Don’t call your brother Dimp. I feel bad enough abandoning him for New Year’s Eve.”
“You serious? Mom, stop.” He paused so long I didn’t think he had more to add. “When Dad was alive, didn’t you guys do it big every New Year’s Eve?”
I smiled at the memory. “Yes, usually. I haven’t thought about it in ages.”
“I remember. You’d both dress up in fancy clothes. Granddad and Grandma kept us. Or didn’t we have a couple of neighborhood girls one year? Yeah. They were nice to us. Nicer than Gran anyway. Do you want pretty boy hanging out with Gran by himself?”
We shuddered in unison at the thought.
“God no. She’ll still be out of town anyway, and he’s eighteen. I mean, I trust him not to burn down the house. But I don’t want him to feel like he’s cramping my style. I still want him to feel special too.”
Dylan raised his hands like he couldn’t take any more. “Chill. Please.” He put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “Have you considered the possibility that Liam’s dicking around with school and college decisions because he’s afraid of leaving you alone?”
“Uh…” Hell, really? Had I missed another thing? I thought Liam was the kid I didn’t have to worry about, other than how his college prep test went.
Dylan smirked at me. “Didn’t think so. In pretty boy’s mind, if he dinks around at community college, he won’t have the guilt of going away. With Thomas around, he has permission to figure out what he actually wants to do with his life.”
My spine straightened. “What does Thomas have to do with anything? I’d never hold you kids back.”
“Sure. Doesn’t mean we wouldn’t feel bad about leaving you alone though.”
“We?”
“Yeah. We don’t want to see you alone. Something from a psych class has stuck with me. What was it exactly?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh right. ‘Nothing is a bigger burden on children than the unlived life of a parent.’ Was it Freud?”
“Seriously doubt it,” I murmured through my shock and guilt.
He snapped again. “No, Jung. Definitely Jung.”
I dropped my head into my hands. “Kill me now. Should I write checks to all three of you or make one big one you can divvy up?”
“For what?”
“Therapy. All this time I thought focusing on you three would fill in the gap your father left. Now you tell me I’ve screwed you up anyway.”
“No. Shit. That’s not what I mean.” He patted my head and chuckled. “Look at our extended family. You were doomed to fuck us up with or without Dad.”
I groaned and fussed with the curls hanging in my face.
Dylan’s laugh grew. At least I’d cheered him up. “I’m kidding. All in all, I’d say we’re fairly functional. It’s quite an achievement.” He bumped my shoulder. “Well done.”
“Are you serious?” I looked up, hopeful yet cognizant of his penchant for messing with me.
Still, I was stunned. Dylan had chosen a university close to home, but it was one of the best in the country for his major. I thought staying nearby had been as much for him as for me. It had been so close to Shane’s death that I didn’t think any of us were ready to lose another family member. Had I been wrong? Had I kept him from living his true dream? It hit me hard how we hadn’t talked enough about the important stuff.
Over the years, I noticed a common trait among kids whose parents had chronic health problems. While the parent often went out of their way to pretend everything was hunky-dory so their kid could have a “normal” life, the child also kept problems from the sick parent to lighten the parent’s daily burden. Shit.
As usual, Dylan paid no mind to my tune out and continued on about his plans for Liam. “He can help us get the condo back in shape the first night. Then we’re having a guy’s poker night on the thirty-first. There’s a chair with Liam’s name on it. PB will be fine. I’ll make sure he has fun.”
“PB?”
Dylan tossed his mischievous side-eye my way. “You don’t like Dimp, so I’ll try out Pretty Boy.”
“Seriously?” Honestly, my kids could exasperate me so easily.
“It has a ring.” Dylan kept his eye on me, challenging me to yell the smirk off his face.
“The boy has always been insanely gorgeous,” I quietly admitted.
“I know, right?”
“It’s the dimple.”
“The curls too.” It was good to see a spark of mischief in Dylan’s silver eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched.
“He’ll beat you up one of these days though. I hope I’m there to video it.”
He puffed his chest out as if he were invincible. “Bring it, Mom. Bring it on.” After what he’d just told me, it lifted my spirit to see evidence that he wasn’t completely crushed. Dylan would move past the pain of both Suzy’s betrayal and their breakup with the efficiency that came from being young.
Something he said earlier gave me pause. I pulled away and gave him a stern look. “Hey, you’re not going to make Koosh stay in the house all day, are you? Her bladder can’t hold it in forever.”
“I’ll put PB on Macushla duty. It’ll be his hotel fee.”
“Way to make him feel like an honored guest. Glad I raised you right.”
He squeezed me again and added a couple of pats for good measure. In a surprisingly accurate imitation of my late father-in-law’s accent, he said, “But you’ve done just grand, me darlin’ mudder. A grand job indeed.”
I wondered how long it would take to know if Dylan was right.